Chapter Twenty-Eight

Oh, hell.

Garrett held the envelope in his hands as though it contained a bomb. For it must. Raven’s Park had been printed in small letters on the envelope, and his own directions were written in very feminine writing. It was not seemly for a single woman to correspond with a single gentleman, but they had already done numerous things that would not have been considered seemly. Why not exchange some correspondence in addition to all their other sins?

Would the letter inform him of her intent to leave the country? The thought of this caused a stabbing pain in the organ that pumped blood through his body. Would she be telling him goodbye? Was she to release him from the promise he’d made?

Or was her news worse?

Forcing his fingertips to open the envelope, Garrett pulled back the flap and removed the folded sheets of paper. Her curling handwriting nearly covered them both completely.

Her news was much worse.

It read:

Lord Hawthorne,

I wish to marry and am holding you to your promise.

In all his life, he’d not thought it possible to feel explosive anger, relief, and utter joy at the same time. Leave it to Natalie to evoke exactly that.

They had an understanding!

The idea of traveling abroad to escape society’s measure and returning to an unresolved scandal is untenable. For I would be forced to be without my family and away from all that is familiar to me with no promise whatsoever of having my reputation restored. And without a restored reputation, I shall never find a suitable husband. I shall find myself upon the shelf, a brittle old maid, and I cannot tolerate this.

Another matter has been resolved as well. I have remembered everything! The reason I climbed into the trunk was to have another look at the portraits of Lady Sheffield’s deceased brother. For I had begun to suspect something, which I have upon further investigation discovered to be true. I do hope you are sitting down for this news. Are you sitting? Well do so!

Feeling a little silly, he dropped onto the nearest chair. She would laugh at him if she were here. What was she rambling on about? He added amusement to the list of emotions that now engulfed him. Merely reading her words unraveled the apathetic haze he’d been in for nearly a month now.

Your mother carried you before she married the Earl of Hawthorne. Your biological father is Lady Sheffield’s brother, Mr. Arthur Winters. There is a great deal of resemblance between the two of you. I observed it upon examining the portraits closely. But even more importantly, Lady Sheffield, who is indeed your aunt, has confirmed the fact.

What? Wait, what? He went back and read the words a second and then third time before continuing onto the next paragraph.

So you needn’t worry about having any children with the same afflictions as the late Lord Hawthorne, any more than any other man, presumably. Therefore, we can lie together freely, as man and wife. I do so look forward to this aspect of marriage!

Yours faithfully,

Natalie

Post Script: Please contact St. George’s on Hanover Square and schedule the wedding for the morning of the 23rd of October (of this year, of course) and arrange to have the banns read. Mama and I shall attend to the other details. You will, of course, speak with Papa about contracts when we are all in London for the Little Season.

He was being punished, for what, he knew not. He just knew he was being punished. And she would feel the sting of it as well. For they would say their vows before an empty church and then face a crowd of hecklers as they exited onto the street.

Throughout her life, she would suffer for her association with him. Didn’t she realize this information could only provoke more scandal?

What was he to do? When he’d made this promise, he’d not in a million years have believed she would lay claim to it. She abhorred the notion of a coerced betrothal! She’d admitted this to him more than once!

And yet, he had, in fact, made this promise. Was she really going to claim him for her husband this way? That did not sound at all like Natalie Spencer.

And then it dawned on him. Oh, Hell, she believed, still, that she could save him! He did not want her to save him! He wished to save her!

And then as the significance of her other news struck him, he bolted out of his chair.

William Castleton was not his father.

Finding himself at the liquor cabinet, Garrett poured himself a generous amount of scotch, sloshing some onto the floor in the process.

William Castleton is not my father.

What of the earldom? He would not accept the title under false pretense. But who else could claim it? He needed to notify the regent.

Did he even want it? Hell, he’d not wanted it to begin with, but now…after working with the tenants, making them promises…

In a fit of frustration, he swept the piles of paper covering his desk onto the floor.

Seizing the scotch again, he ignored his glass and drank directly from the bottle. As the alcohol warmed his insides, the thought reverberated, once again, in his head.

William Castleton is not my father.

This time the words were a balm to his soul.

But he could not rely upon an old woman’s memory. He would write a letter of his own. This one to the Earl of Ravensdale, and then later, he would write to his solicitors. If this new information voided his inheritance, then so be it. He was wealthy in his own right. But a part of him would be saddened. The estate was the only home he’d ever known. And he’d already launched extensive plans to rebuild it. The tenants were just now coming around to accept him. They were coming to trust his words and assurances. Where would they be without an earl to see to their prosperity?

And what of Natalie and this apparent betrothal she demanded? If he was not the earl, then what was he? Who was he?

Good God, what a Pandora’s box this was. Leave it to Natalie to throw it open with gleeful abandon.

Garrett threw his head back and closed his eyes. And then, unbidden, long suppressed memories wedged their way into his racing thoughts. Memories of the childhood he’d suffered at the hands of the man he’d believed to be his father. As though they’d occurred only yesterday, the insults, the beatings, the long hours he’d been forced to spend memorizing scriptures, jolted him into the past. Garrett wondered if the earl had suspected his son was fathered by another man.

He must have!

But who was this other man? He wished he’d listened more closely when Lady Sheffield had reminisced about him, the man she claimed to be his father. He wished he’d looked closer at the drawings.

But they were still in the trunk—here, at Maple Hall. He wanted to see them. Standing, he strode purposefully to the kitchen. Mrs. Hampden directed him to the attic, where the items now rested.

Taking the steps two at a time, his sense of urgency grew. He needed answers. Would examining the drawings give him any?

Throwing back the drapes at one end of the room, he allowed the sunlight to illuminate the clean and tidy space. His gaze found the trunk easily, and a shudder passed through him as he remembered the last time he’d opened it.

He’d nearly lost her forever. Shaking his head, he pushed back the morbid thought and lifted the lid.

Natalie’s blood tore at him as he gazed down at the stained and torn wedding gown. He pushed it aside and then scratched around the bottom of the container to collect the papers. As he pulled them together forming a stack, an envelope fell to the floor at his feet.

On the envelope, no name had been written, only the words My Dearest Child in feminine, flowing letters. It was the same handwriting his mother used to sign her name on her paintings.

My Dearest Child. That was him. Another letter!

Garrett closed the trunk and sat down upon its lid. Reaching down, he discarded the drawings for the moment and lifted the second ominous letter he’d held in his hands within the past hour. He broke the seal and took a deep breath.

To my child,

I do not know you yet. You are still in my womb. If you are reading this now, then you have reached your majority and are either a strapping young man or a lovely young woman, possibly married by now. I hope to watch you grow but am doubtful I will survive childbirth. I am focusing all my strength upon bringing you into this world, but I despair of having enough for both of us.

Nonetheless, I cannot go to the grave without making the truth of your parentage known to you. God help me, Lord Hawthorne is not your father. I do not believe he suspects this fact, and I am hopeful he treats you as he would a child of his own.

Please do not hate me. Your real papa, Mr. Arthur Winters, and I had every intention of marrying, even before we knew of your existence. Your father was charming, tender of heart, well-read, and clever, but alas, he lacked ruthlessness and was killed in a duel. I was forced to marry Lord Hawthorne a few days afterward.

I hope this information is not a burden, but I have concerns that Lord Hawthorne is not of sound mind. He frightens me, and I want you to be able to face your life without believing you are blood relations with one such as he. I am so very sorry I have not been with you for your childhood. I pray protection over you.

But above all else, I want you to know that you are loved. Please know of my love for you and that of your papa’s so you may have something of us with you forever.

Find happiness, my dear,

Your mama,

Lady Cordelia Castleton

It was true, then.

Garrett folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and gathered the drawings together. He didn’t waste any more time in the stifling room. He needed to get outside. This was too much. He felt as though ghosts were speaking to him from the past—ghosts he’d believed to be long gone.

Upon reaching the main floor, Garrett stashed the papers in his desk and, almost without thinking, struck out for the stables. There, he breathed in the familiar smells of hay and animal as he strode to Rumble. His faithful mount welcomed him with a bob of his head. Seeking comfort for himself, Garrett stroked the coarse black hair of his horse’s neck and back. Rumble reached around his head to nuzzle him. Burying his face against Rumble, Garrett absorbed the horse’s calm. After a few moments, he finally saddled up. They would ride. He didn’t know where or for how long, but together they would ride.

And then later, he would deal with it all.